


Dive into the Spark

by zeiitnot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Kingdom Hearts AU, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Indulgent, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-16 02:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeiitnot/pseuds/zeiitnot
Summary: When Hot Rod sacrifices himself to save Perceptor, it leads to a journey to recover Drift's best friend from the darkness.Entirely self-indulgent AU in which Hot Rod and Drift have Keyblades because I wanted it and no one stopped me.





	1. Chapter 1

“Roddy, don’t!” Drift pleaded, optics wide and frozen on his best friend. They’d known each other only a short time, since Drift and Perceptor had picked up the headstrong young mech only weeks ago, but in that short amount of time, Hot Rod had become the closest friend Drift had, next to Perceptor. Seeing Hot Rod now, with the Keyblade of Heart in his hands, that black-bladed key formed from seven sparks of pure light, was terrifying. “We’ll find another way!”

Hot Rod shook his head, optics dim and sorrowful. “There  _is_ no other way, Drift. I  _have_  to do this.”

Drift took a shaky step forward. “But you’ll lose your spark! And we don’t know if there’s a way back from that!”

“I know.”

Drift’s gaze finally breaks from Hot Rod to the still form of Perceptor laying on the floor, optics dark and unseeing. His spark was in Hot Rod, as they’d just learned, escaped to protect itself by finding the safest place to hide away while his body recovered from the attack on them. There was only one way to release Perceptor’s spark and Hot Rod literally held the key in his hands. Drift’s spark pulsed painfully in his chest – what if this didn’t work? What if Perceptor didn’t wake up and Hot Rod was sacrificing himself for nothing? What if Drift was about to lose them both?

“Please, Hot Rod – ”

“I’m sorry, Drift,” Hot Rod interrupted. He turned the Keyblade in his hands, pointing the tip against his chest, above his spark. “Tell Percy I’m sorry for me.”

Drift couldn’t even get a response out before Hot Rod pulled the Keyblade hard against his chest. The blade slid through his armor like it wasn’t even there, causing no physical damage to the plating, but clearly impaling through the younger mech. A blinding light erupted from Hot Rod’s chest and Drift had to cover his optics to protect them from the intensity, even as his own spark clenched so tightly in his chest that he couldn’t stand it. Even as the light began to fade, he didn’t want to look – he didn’t want to see Hot Rod as still and lifeless as Perceptor.

And yet, he lowered his hand anyways, unable to bring himself to look away, to go without seeing his best friend for just a few moments more. Hot Rod stood for a moment, the Keyblade of Heart still impaled almost gruesomely in his chest. Two bright blue sparks floated in the air in front of the younger mech, casting their glow over Hot Rod’s red armor. Hot Rod’s optics were on Perceptor, a pained, wistful expression on his face - one that Drift recognized; it was the look one gave the person they loved when they knew they’d never see them again.

The Keyblade fell from Hot Rod’s chest, clattering to the floor, and startling Drift. Hot Rod fell a moment later, as the Keyblade released the sparks that had created it. In the corner of his vision, Drift could see one of the sparks that had been released from Hot Rod move, floating towards Perceptor, but he couldn’t bring his gaze away from Hot Rod. He tried to move towards him, but his feet felt as though they’d been welded to the floor. His entire frame was heavy, his spark seeming to have stilled in his chest when Hot Rod fell to his knees and Drift wanted to reach the other mech, wanted to run to his side, hold him up, beg him to stay with them. He’d watched Perceptor lose his spark, now he’d watched Hot Rod do the same. He couldn’t lose his friend –  _he_   _couldn’t lose Hot Rod, please!_

Hot Rod looked up at Drift and, for a moment, it seemed like he was going to be fine. A proud smile crossed his lips and he laughed, even as optic fluid fell over his faceplates. Hot Rod’s laugh, even pained as it was, had Drift’s spark pulsing again. Drift took a step forward –

\- just as Hot Rod’s body began to dissipate into fragments of light.

“ ** _Hot Rod_**!!”

Drift’s spark pulsed wildly, fear and loss overtaking him, and his intakes seized up.  _No, **no**!! _He had to do something, he had to reach him! He screamed his best friend’s name again and again, trying to get his body to move, frozen as it was from the shock of seeing Hot Rod beginning to disappear. Hot Rod’s name echoed in the small chamber they’d stood in.

It wasn’t until he saw Perceptor running for Hot Rod that he even realized the other mech was awake.

It wasn’t until he saw Perceptor’s mouth moving that he realized, also, that it wasn’t his own voice echoing off the chamber walls – it was Perceptor’s.

“Hot Rod!” Perceptor tried to grab Hot Rod, but the last after image of the young mech’s body disappeared, the tendrils of light he’d faded into floating upwards and disappearing. Drift was finally able to move and he stumbled towards Perceptor to wrap his arms around the awake and distressed sniper as he continued to call for Hot Rod to come back. “Drift, what did he  _do?_ What  _happened_?”

Drift’s mouth opened and he tried to speak, but his vocalizer refused to work. He closed his mouth and shook his head, and as Perceptor broke down in his arms, it took everything he had not to follow suit. Hot Rod had saved Perceptor, but the price was far too much. It hurt so much and Drift was barely holding it together, Perceptor was already falling apart, and there was still danger all around them. There was no time to mourn the loss – just as there had been no time to mourn Wing, no time to mourn Gasket.

Why was there never time to mourn the ones you loved?

Drift pulled Perceptor to his feet. “We need to go. We’ll bring him back. There  _has_ to be a way.”

Perceptor nodded and tucked his head against Drift’s shoulder for a moment. “If anyone can find a way to bring him back, it’s the two of us. We won’t let him be lost in the darkness too long.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Drift runs into a slight problem getting Hot Rod back.

Nobodies were such strange, sad creatures, Drift thought. Formed of the empty shell left behind when one lost their heart, Nobodies spent their half-lives in a desperate, endless struggle to recall and reclaim their heart. They forgot who they were and, sometimes, forgot they were ever whole, haunted by a sense of loss that they could not understand. The thought that Hot Rod had become one of these despondent creatures made Drift’s spark ache.

He and Perceptor were doing everything they could to find Hot Rod’s Nobody, to reunite him with his Heartless - an act that Perceptor theorized would make him whole once more.

Finding him was the difficult part. Until recently, Drift hadn’t had much luck. Every lead seemed to end nowhere. Every clue he found gave him nothing. It seemed as though Hot Rod just wasn’t meant to come back. But Drift wasn’t giving up; not until he had his best friend back. His perseverance paid off in the form of a Nobody that took a similar shape to Hot Rod.

Convoy, as the Nobody was calling himself, was a darkly colored mech, all blues and purples where Hot Rod had been all brights, orange and red. The contrast in colors between the two weren’t the only differences between Hot Rod and Convoy - Hot Rod’s optimistic, carefree nature was nowhere to be seen in Convoy, who hid himself away in shadows, reluctant and negative. Drift had his doubts that this mech was really Hot Rod, but perhaps the time spent as a Nobody had broken through Hot Rod’s self.

Drift followed Convoy for several days, waiting for a chance to take the other mech, drag him back to Perceptor’s lab so they could bring Hot Rod back to his whole self.

In following him, Drift made a discovery that he needed to report back to Perceptor.

_“What do you mean, there’s two of them?”_

\- - - - -

“Which one of them is really Hot Rod?” Drift asked later, back in the lab with Perceptor. He’d gathered as much information as he could on Rodimus and Convoy, bringing still images and video feed, energy signatures, anything he could that might help them figure it out. “They can’t  _both_ be him, can they?”

“I have my doubts,” Perceptor replied, attention focused on his screen. Displayed in front of him was a comparison of the two Nobodies, analyses running on the data Drift had brought him. “I have every reason to believe that Rodimus is our Hot Rod, but there’s something odd.” He gestured Drift closer and pointed to a particular dataset. “Look here. Both Rodimus and Convoy have the same energy signature as Hot Rod, but Rodimus’ signature seems to be fading.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m certain nothing good. I want you to bring him to me as soon as you can.” Perceptor leaned back in his chair, removing his reticule to wipe it clean with a cloth. “I’d rather not lose either of them when they could both be important. If Rodimus is fading, we need to get him here and stabilize him.”

Drift nodded. Whatever it took to get Hot Rod back.

\- - - - -

He’d realized days ago that the mech was following him, trying to tail him, potentially to where he and the others made their home base. Enough had been enough and Convoy had called him out, challenged him to a fight. He didn’t care for being followed and he’d put a stop to it by taking the other mech out

Convoy held his own against the swordsmech that lunged at him. Their Keyblades clashed with each swing, his defensive tactics equal to the other mech’s offensive maneuvers. Though he fought well, Convoy felt cornered and it steadily chipped at his confidence in his skills - he was always lesser, always the weaker fighter, full of insecurities and doubts that ate away at his concentration.

What if he couldn’t beat him? What would happen if he was forced to retreat and the mech followed him back to the base? Would he punished, turned into the lowest form of Nobody for his failures? The threat had been hanging over him from day one, his superiors unimpressed with his performances in the missions they’d been running. The only time he seemed to be of any worth was around Rodimus and the other Nobody had fallen ill as of late.

If he could defeat this mech, would it give his superiors reason to praise him for once?

He couldn’t guess. The other mech swung hard in a sudden strike that blew the Keyblade from Convoy’s hand and, in the next moment, lunged forward, twisted, and struck his spinal strut, forcing him to collapse. Convoy fell in a heap.

“Not too bad, but you’re no Hot Rod.”

Those words might as well have been another blow for the damage they did to his mind. Convoy wasn’t sure who  _Hot Rod_  was, but it was bad enough his superiors belittled him for not being like Rodimus - this was just adding insult to injury. “Who  _are_ you and  _why_ are you following me?”

The mech didn’t give his name, walking past Convoy and picking up the Keyblade that had clattered to the ground. “To get my best friend back,” he replied, looking over the weapon in his hand. A thoughtful hum escaped the mech and he threw the Keyblade over his shoulder. “You really can’t fight fire with sparks, a fake Keyblade is useless.”

Convoy bristled. “My Keyblade isn’t fake!” He reached for it, pushing himself up and running at the other mech. “I’ll show you!”

He swung the Keyblade at the other mech, who merely stepped aside and caught hold of Convoy’s arm, twisting and throwing Convoy to the ground. Convoy’s Keyblade hit the ground next to him and disappeared in a flash of light for him to summon later.

“Take my advice,” the mech told him. “Stay out of the way. All I want is my best friend.”

He left with that, leaving Convoy on the ground, disoriented from the last blow, furious at the other mech’s dismissals, and disappointed in himself for his own failures. He slammed a fist into the ground and yelled up at the sky.

 _Fake. Useless. A sham._ That’s all he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look into Convoy and Rodimus and their respective places in the world of Nobodies.

There was always contention between Rodimus and Convoy, with the rest of their organization often comparing the two of them and, more often, finding Convoy lacking. Whether it was in fighting skills, his use of the Keyblade against the Heartless, his capacity for gathering hearts, it seemed that their superiors were constantly favoring Rodimus over him and Convoy, already a mess of insecurities, found himself wishing that Rodimus wouldn’t recover from the strange stasis he’d collapsed into.

Maybe if Rodimus didn’t wake up, Convoy could take his place, finally be recognized as a valuable asset, rather than the disappointment everyone seemed to think he way. Rodimus had often spoke of his doubts in his own abilities, despite the praise their superiors gave him, which only served to make Convoy despise him more - Rodimus was the golden child of the organization, so what did _he_ have to complain about?

Though Convoy at times _hated_ the other Nobody, Rodimus was also the only one who made an effort to help him. Despite the contention between them, Rodimus went out of his way to encourage him, train with him, even team up with him to complete the missions they were given. Among their fellow Nobodies, Rodimus was the only one who treated him as, maybe not a friend, but a _brother_.

The day Rodimus finally did wake, Convoy was torn between disappointment and relief. Rodimus sought him out almost immediately, trudging sleepily into Convoy’s room, where he promptly splayed out on the berth next to him.

“Didn’t you _just_ wake up from stasis?” Convoy asked, shoving Rodimus off the berth. A grin slipped over his lips and he couldn’t help a laugh. Regardless of constantly being reminded of how much better Rodimus was than him, he had to admit, he’d missed the other Nobody. “You’ve got so much make-up work to do.”

“Ugh,” came Rodimus’ reply from the floor. “I’ll do it _later_ , I _just_ woke up from stasis!”

That sent Convoy into a fit of laughter and, for a moment, his chest felt warm, as though a spark pulsed in the hollow of his frame. He could never forget that, as Nobodies, he and Rodimus had no real sparks of their own, only the memories of them and the feelings that originated in them - so often, the head of the organization would remind them, the others would remind them.

But in these sparse moments with Rodimus, with his brother, Convoy sometimes believed he _did_ have a spark.

\- - - - -

Whatever had taken Rodimus ill and led him to fall into such a long stasis, the recovery was almost instantaneous once he woke up. In no time, he was back to form, Keyblade in hand once more and racking up points with the superiors with the number of hearts he collected. Once again, Convoy found himself falling behind as Rodimus soared ahead of him.

 _“You can’t fight fire with sparks_ . _”_

The mysterious white mech’s words came back to haunt Convoy as he watched Rodimus fight Heartless. The other Nobody, bright and warm, was a firestorm against the darkness, he realized. In comparison,Convoy was little more than candlelight in a distant window, cold and dim.

One of his superiors, Scourge, looked down on him often, calling him worthless, a puppet, a _spare_ . The cold glares the larger Nobody would turn on him used make Convoy wonder what he’d ever truly done wrong. What had he ever done to earn such disregard and hatred from their superiors?  Watching Rodimus, Convoy thought he finally understood. It wasn’t that he had done anything _wrong_ , it was just that Rodimus did it all better, with more ease and confidence, than he ever had. He was _inferior_. He was less than the other Nobody, held back by his insecurities and doubts.

He knew he’d never catch up to Rodimus the way he was. If he was ever going to make something of himself within this organization, if Convoy was ever going to get out of Rodimus' shadow and stand on his own, something had to change. Convoy would have to get stronger, put his doubts behind him and recreate himself. He had to do _more_ than catch up with Rodimus, he realized -

\- he would have to be _better_ than him.

\- - - - -

Perceptor frowned as he went over the latest data Drift brought back. He removed his reticule, cleaned it, replaced it, then went over the data a second time, looking more closely and double-checking again. Something was off and he wasn’t entirely sure what. Nobodies were still a new subject for him; prior to their attempts to find and restore Hot Rod, he and Drift hadn’t even _heard_ of Nobodies. Every new bit of data they got their hands on was more to study and learn and process.

Even with that in mind, the readings he got were abnormal.

He’d been watching Convoy and Rodimus both since they’d discovered the two Nobodies, both of whom seemed to have ties to Hot Rod. Previously, he’d been concerned about Rodimus’ fading energy, but the stasis he’d fallen into seemed to have stabilized him. After he’d woken, all readings had seemed normal, leveling out, though lower than expected.

The readings from both Nobodies now made Perceptor’s previous concerns pale in comparison.

“What is it?” Drift asked, noting the other mech’s furrowed brow.

“I think Convoy is somehow draining Rodimus’ energy and taking it into himself,” Perceptor replied. He pushed himself from his console and reached for his rifle. “We have to bring Convoy in. If we don’t run interference, we could lose both of them - and any chance of bringing back Hot Rod.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for a bit of clarification, the Scourge I mention in this chapter is the Scourge from 2001's Robots in Disguise and not the Scourge associated with Cyclonus. If I'm going to play around with Convoys and black repaints, I might as well have some cross-continuity guest stars.
> 
> Also decided to do away with the chapter titles because deciding which track to name the chapters after was too much, so RIP chapter titles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Convoy has a problem.

Bringing in Convoy wasn’t the easiest task that Perceptor had given him and Drift was  _ really _ starting to dislike the guy. 

It had been hard enough tracking the Nobodies down before, but it seemed as though Convoy was  _ aware _ that Drift was trying to corner him. Tracking his energy signature was of no use because Perceptor couldn’t get a reading on him anymore, with his energy fluctuating so much. On top of that, it seemed as though Convoy was in one place one moment and the next, he’d be somewhere entirely different. 

It would be one thing if there was a sort of pattern to where Convoy was showing up, but he never seemed to be in the same place twice. The only place he kept going back to was the stronghold where the other Nobodies gathered and even with all of Drift’s combat skills, it was too well-protected. It would be suicide to go there and that was saying a lot for a mech like Drift and even more for Perceptor, who’d gone on some pretty suicidal missions before. It was one thing to take on a squad of Decepticons, an entirely different thing to take on a legion of lesser Nobodies with their erratic movements and unpredictable attacks and the various forms they took.

There was no way of reaching the stronghold to just go in and take Convoy or Rodimus. Drift  _ had _ to corner them when they were away from their home base, somewhere they were less protected, on their own, in the open.

The problem with that was that it was almost impossible to figure out  _ where _ he could find them. Rodimus, from all readings, was staying mostly in the stronghold, but  _ Convoy _ …

Convoy was just all over the place and Perceptor was having a hard time keeping track of all of his movements. Every time they got close, it seemed, Convoy would jump again. They had no idea what he was doing, why he was suddenly going to so many different places. Drift would follow him, but by the time he reached that location, the Nobody would be gone again. It was a seemingly endless chase, Convoy always one step ahead of them.

And they had no clue what had caused this sudden change.

In so short a time, since that day Drift had met Convoy face-to-face and realized that the Keyblade he held wasn’t even real, the Nobody had drastically changed. What glimpses he caught of Convoy were of a mech who carried himself differently than the frustrated, frazzled mech he’d fought. It seemed that the desperation to prove himself that Convoy had carried before was gone; not, Drift sensed, out of the satisfaction of success, but a bitter realization that he  _ wasn’t  _ going to get that validation he sought.

So much like his Hot Rod, Drift mused, but with a darkness that overshadowed the hope. Was it because Convoy was Hot Rod’s Nobody? They still didn’t know which of the similarly built Nobodies was Hot Rod or if they were somehow  _ both  _ him. There was no way to be sure until Perceptor could run some tests, but for that to happen, Drift would have to actually get his hands on one or the other.

And Perceptor had deemed Convoy the more important one for now.

If only they could actually get him to hold still long enough to bring him in.

\- - - - - 

Passing through another corridor of darkness, Convoy summoned his Keyblade and looked around at his surroundings, watching for interference, Heartless, or that persistent white mech that kept following him around. He'd never gotten the mech's name and he didn't care what it was, but the mech was bordering on obnoxious with his stalking. Whatever he wanted, Convoy wasn't intending to give it to him.

He had yet to figure out why the mech seemed so familiar, though, and that was part of why he was such an irritant to Convoy.  _ Something  _ in his memory insisted that he knew the mech from before the fight. He just couldn't place the mech and, as much as he told himself that he didn't care, that nagging part of him kept asking why he couldn't recall his name or why he seemed so important.

It only made him even more irritated and he took his frustration out on the countless Heartless that had overtaken the worlds he visited to train. With every heart released, he was helping the organization that scoffed him, but he wasn't doing it for them; every Heartless he defeated made him stronger and took him one step closing to being better than Rodimus. When he got strong enough, he’d take his brother down to prove that he wasn’t the weak sham that everyone seemed to think he was.

Convoy’s Keyblade shredded through a trio of Neoshadow Heartless as he cut through a larger group of Heartless. As he fought, he recalled not only the words of the stranger, but something Rodimus had told him some time after he’d woken up from his illness.

_ “The whole time I was out, I kept having these… weird dreams.”  _ Rodimus had said, sprawled out on Convoy’s berth.   _ “It’s like one long dream, actually. There was this mech - he looked like us, but he wasn’t us. But he seemed so familiar. I can’t tell you his name, I never heard it, but… there was someone calling his name.” _

_ “Who?”  _ Convoy had prompted.

_ “I… Drift, I think his name was.” _

Thinking about what Rodimus had told him and the white mech that had been following him, Convoy was becoming distracted and the Heartless were getting bold. More Neoshadows spawned and he found himself under a pile of them. Black claws scratched at him, wild and mindless attacks that scraped his paint and gouged his armor. His Keyblade fell and disappeared in a flash of light, leaving him unarmed against the Heartless. He struggled to fight back, but more and more Neoshadows spawned, adding to the pile on top of him, limiting his movements - he couldn’t have swung his Keyblade if he summoned it, with all these Heartless on top of him.

“No! I won’t go down like this!” Convoy snarled. He couldn’t! He’d worked too hard to get stronger to let a few Neoshadows take him out! “Get off me!”

A brilliant flash of light literally cut through the pile of Heartless and they all dissipated, freed hearts floating away as Convoy felt the weight of the Neoshadows disappear. He looked up and saw the white stranger standing nearby.

“You’re a hard Nobody to find.”

“Didn’t exactly  _ want _ to be found,” Convoy pointed out, picking himself up from the ground and brushing off dust and bits of scratched paint. “Hope you’re not expecting a  _ thank you _ or anything.”

“I may have just saved your life.”

“Didn’t exactly  _ ask you to _ , did I?” 

The white mech tilted his head, hefting his Keyblade to his shoulder with a slight smile. Convoy  _ hated _ him. As much as a Nobody without a spark or emotions  _ could _ hate someone. He wanted to wipe that smile from the mech’s face.

_ “What _ ?” Convoy demanded, hands curled into fists.

“Nothing. You just remind me of someone I know.” The mech took a step forward. Convoy summoned his Keyblade into his hand, but that didn’t deter him. “In fact, you remind me of someone who’s special to me, someone I intend to get back.”

Convoy thrust his Keyblade at the mech. “Let me guess, that best friend you kept rambling about last time?”

“Exactly.”

“Pfft.” Convoy threw his head back and laughed. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m  _ not _ your best friend. I can’t  _ stand _ you.”

“Funny, that’s what he told me once.” The mech’s smile was back and Convoy gave a low growl of annoyance. “You might just be him and you can’t remember.”

“I’m  _ me _ !” Convoy spat back at him. He swung his Keyblade at the other mech, who blocked, then countered the attack easily. “I’m not your lost friend, I’m my  _ own _ person!”

“You’re a Nobody. It’s literally in the name that you’re not.” 

Angered, Convoy swung hard at the other mech, knocking the Keyblade from his hand. The other mech had the gall to look surprised at the turn of events. “You don’t get to decide what I am!!”

He lunged at the mech, tackling him to the ground and putting his Keyblade against his neck. The mech beneath him stilled and stared up at him with wide, pale blue optics. Both of them fell silent, the only sounds that of fans kicking in to cool heated systems. There was a moment, Convoy realized, where this whole situation felt like deja vu - and not because of the previous fight between the two of them. 

It felt… 

Like a far off memory… a scattered dream…

Convoy suddenly leaned down and pressed his lips against the other mech’s.  _ Drift _ . The name came to him from Rodimus’ words the other day and he just -  _ he knew _ \- this mech was the same that his brother had described and that persistent familiarity suddenly clicked and he  _ knew  _ Drift. 

Drift’s hands came up to cup Convoy’s face and he was kissing back and Convoy could  _ feel _ quiet desperation from the other mech. His Keyblade slipped from Drift’s neck as he lost his grip on it and -

\- the next thing he knew, Drift’s knee impacted  _ hard _ into his abdomen and he was being thrown off the other mech. Another moment and something struck him hard again and his vision went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this.


End file.
